


Perhaps

by kihadu



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kihadu/pseuds/kihadu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran and Fenris and perhaps a relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perhaps

**Author's Note:**

> written sort of in response to [this work](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1500314) by [Madelinesticks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Madelinesticks/pseuds/Madelinesticks)

When the woman tilts her head at Zevran and glances at the door he takes only four steps before he remembers that Fenris can put his hand inside someone and rip out their spine and worse, Fenris looks awful upset.

"Not tonight," he tells the woman, though when he returns to his own room, cold if not for the fire, he wonders if he has done the right thing. He stretches out on the overly large mattress, rolling into the space that would be occupied by another. That woman. Or Fenris, had he deigned to join him on his travels. Often he does but this time he has not. Hawke is having a bad week, and Isabela can only do so much to comfort her. 

He completes his tasks - two murders, three thefts, and the purchase of a bottle of wine he intends to bring home for Fenris, but on the last night in this city he looks at the bottle and wonders what he’s doing with himself. He’s never been  _this_  before, pining after people from afar.

He takes the wine and goes downstairs and finds an older gentleman, the sort who’s a little lonely and willing to talk for hours. They finish the bottle together.

On his return to Kirkwall he feels torn. There is Fenris in his broken mansion, but is that what this is? Will he return like a dog to Fenris after every out-of-town trip? He did not even touch that woman. Zevran knows himself, and this is not in his nature. His nature is not being tied to a person in such a manner. He fears he cannot offer what Fenris wants.

He does not go to the Hanged Man, either, for fear of seeing Isabela. He goes to the Rose. He sits down with a drink and lets himself be drawn into conversation around him. The talk is politics (he does not care) and sex (his advice is easily listened to) and dancing - and here Zevran has to get up, because they are doing the steps absolutely wrong. There’s laughter, and someone finds a fiddle and climbs up onto a table. It’s late afternoon and business is slow, and patrons and workers alike are drawn into the impromptu dancing lesson. 

He’s laughing and his skin is a sheen of sweat that slips where the man grips his forearm and he is spun into another person and lets them take him. It’s fast and whirling, and he scarcely sees the white hair following after a tall formidable woman. 

"He’s back," says Fenris, to Isabela, both of them watching the dancers.

"You did not know?" Fenris shakes his head, a small movement while his eyes follow Zevran. He looks concerned, pensively tilting his head. Isabela has no time for such introversion right now, and races into the dancing bodies. As Fenris watches Zevran laughs and buries his head into the nape of the neck of his dancing partner. He grinds his jaw, and turns to listen to what Hawke and Varric are discussing. 

Zevran notices Isabela as soon as the song is over and the dancers retreat. “My beauty,” he smiles. “A wonderful start to the night, hm?”

"Dunno about that," says Isabela. "You might have an upset elf." Zevran follows her line of sight and his shoulders sag. "I’ll let you to it," says Isabela. Her fingers rest on his forearm for a moment in comfort, but it provides him none. 

"Fenris!" he says, stepping lightly over. He is still breathing a little hard from the dancing though his skin is growing cold.

"You have returned," says Fenris. His eyes dart over Zevran. "You are well?"

"A few scratches." His knees are bloodied from a fall, his hands grazed, and there are a few marks on his shoulders, but nothing more than what a child would receive whilst playing. "I-" he is cut off by a woman sliding past him, touching his shoulder and giving him a very obvious invitation. He looks immediately back at Fenris, who is grinding his jaw and not meeting his eye. "Talk to me," Zevran says. 

Fenris looks around. He does so hate public confrontations of any kind, and when he speaks his voice is low. “If you would rather go with her than me, then go.” This is no relationship, this is nothing so complex.

"That is the trouble," says Zevran, equally soft. "I would rather not have to choose."

"I am no fool," growls Fenris. "I could not control you even if I had the urge to try. I had only hoped that I would warm your bed tonight, but if you find a more willing," his nose crinkles, "dancing partner, than go."

"You are not willing?" Fenris is aware of the closeness of other people, of the fact that although they are talking softly they could still be overheard. He leads Zevran out into the foyer. Again, Fenris speaks softly.

"I would have you, and only you. I am interested in no other. You plague my thoughts." He spits this out, obviously disconcerted with such a thing. "But you are your own man and you must do what you want."

He looks down, away, not meeting Zevran’s eye or even coming close to it. 

Zevran reaches out and lifts Fenris’ chin. He does it gently, so Fenris could twist away if he wanted, but their eyes meet all the same. “When I am here, I wish to be yours, as much as I am able. And when I am away, I am also yours, and if I touch other people that does not come into what I think of you.” 

"I do not know if I can do that," Fenris chokes out. His failures weigh heavy on him, and Zevran’s good opinion is important to him. The thought of pushing too far bothers him.

"Can we try?"

Fenris spends a long time considering, noise from the other room filtering through the open door. “We can try,” he agrees, finally, almost begrudgingly, but his fingers are compliant when Zevran touches his hand around the gauntlet, and he is almost offended when Zevran moves away. “You have been gone two weeks,” he growls. “You are terrible at hellos.” He kisses him roughly, keeping his hands at his sides and shivering at Zevran’s touch on his waist. 

"Made up, then?" interrupts Isabela. "In the mood for some murder?"

"We’ve got a lead," explains Hawke.

Zevran had thought he would take Fenris to the mansion, now, but there’s two things he likes and he’s promised one he might as well take the invitation for another. “What say you?” he offers Fenris. “Wanna kill someone?”

Fenris’ face is soft, looking at Zevran unbothered by his friends behind. “I remain at your side.”


End file.
